


You Bring Me Closer To God

by freecas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Collared Castiel, Demon Dean, Fallen Castiel, Hell, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Season/Series 09, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Winged Castiel, Wings, messed up relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 12:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6985750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freecas/pseuds/freecas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a demon, Dean wants to accomplish as much as he can.<br/>Kill Crowley? Check. <br/>Take his place in Hell? Check. <br/>Make Hell what it used to be before him? Check. <br/>Turn his brother demon so they can both reign in Hell? Well, there might be a problem with that one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Bring Me Closer To God

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this one about a year ago, when I was thinking about Demon!Dean storyline in the show. I was (and still am) upset with what they did with it, so I decided to rewrite it.  
> This is as close to what I've hoped to see on the show as it gets.  
> I hope you like it!  
> Also, special thnks to my beta, [Grace!](http://thesewingskeepmesafe.tumblr.com/)

Dean didn’t have to pick sides. He was a demon and that was pretty much as good as it gets. What Crowley didn’t understand was that Dean still had his memories. He still remembered how it felt to be human – how people felt joy, happiness, sorrow, anger, fury – _alive_.

When talking to demons in Crowley’s charge Dean felt disgusted because that was how he had learned. When interacting with people something inside of him got protective of them and their well-being. It was a mark’s error, something that the creation hadn’t thought through. Because he didn’t become a demon the traditional way. Although he had a great potential to.

Dean nudged Crowley’s leg, making sure that he wasn’t moving, because it was unsurprisingly easy for a demon to simulate death. His glassy, red eyes were open as an only reminder of what he really was. A hole in his body where the first blade had struck him was still bleeding out, his hands pathetically gripping the handle of the angel blade.

Still something inside of Dean was mourning, sad with the realization of this thing that had been following them for a better half of the hunting, was dead. Dean had wanted to know how it feels and if it was enough to regret. It was a test.

He had passed it. The demon inside of him won.

Dean sighed, throwing himself onto the nearest surface that wasn’t covered in blood or any other part of humans’ bodies. And there were a lot of bodies around him. Dean counted sixteen and then got bored.

Crowley’s dead eyes still followed his movements.

“Don’t look at me like that, man, you had it coming,” said, feeling a low pang of guilt build in his memory.

Memories of Crowley bossing him around passed in his mind. Crowley had made the worst mistake of treating Dean as he would a regular demon. And maybe Dean could’ve just threatened the guy and leave it at that but Crowley had been starring the show for too long; it was his time to go.

Yeah, Dean was a demon, but not traditionally so. Usually it took years to make one from the blackness of a sinful soul. It took centuries of teaching and learning, burning and _crafting_.

Dean remembered burning. He remembered crafting.

He remembered disposing of everything humanity had to offer and loving every second of his lessons with Alastair. There was time when he hated it, when he had only done it so they wouldn’t torture _him_. Thinking about it now, maybe it really was his first step, because Dean Winchester would have never put himself first.

But after some time he got used to it. The taste of the screams and pleads and tears and flesh. Once he had a good taste of it, it wasn’t so hard for him to admit that he loved it. And Alastair knew that, waiting patiently for Dean’s full transition.

Dean had black eyes long before of Cain made him one. And he was proud of them, because everything he saw through them was so much clearer, more distinct.

So yeah, Dean didn’t have to pick sides. He was a demon long before Crowley was a king. And honestly, Dean was so glad with it. Because seeing what he had made Hell into? Pathetic.

Dean chuckled to himself thinking of rebuilding it. Could he do it? Why not. He was much stronger than any other demon, could tear fear and respect out of their throats with his bare hands. What stopped him truly was time he had to waste on it.

But the desire of wiping out any sign of Crowley’s sorry existence would get him going just long enough.

And Dean _had_ ideas. He had them in Hell, when listening to Alastair, taking his instruments, following his lead. He had them every time he heard _good boy_ spill from the Executor’s lips. He had them every time Alastair let him have a new weapon of choice.

Those ideas were so bright in his head. And maybe in the beginning those were the thoughts of vengeance on him for everything he had done to Dean. But as Alastair whispered to him the filthiest fantasies of cutting open, and tearing out, and sewing back in shapes and forms Dean had never thought possible… those thoughts transitioned to be a gift for said demon.

Dean didn’t love Alastair, don’t mistake. He hated him with all his guts even when wishing of building a new Hell for him. What he felt was respect skillfully crafted from fear and hatred.

Crowley didn’t know how to do that. The way he tortured was so mechanic, so systematic. Dean didn’t get it. Of course, Crowley was a hell of a torturer, Dean had to admit. He had seen him move and had even learned something because when Crowley was holding a knife, no one wanted to be chained in front of him.

But what Crowley lacked was _passion_ that Dean and Alastair shared. He didn’t know the pleasure that came with torturing. He only did it for information, for intimidation, to get his plans going. He had never done to please his senses and when he got his hands on Hell, he made sure that no one would.

Torturing had not been the part of the fun anymore and Dean hated it.

So Crowley had to go one way or another. Because no demon in his sane mind would ban torturing. It was a part of being bad, part of being dark. That was the first thing Dean had learned in Hell: how to make people beg, choking on their own blood. And Dean had loved every second of that lesson even though something in him was screaming with disgust.

The same something was _still_ here with him. He had never finished the transition, he had never purified completely, so even now, admiring his own work and loving every bit of it, there was still something in him, chanting _wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong_.

That was when there was a phone ring. Dean didn’t carry a phone anymore but Crowley did.

Dean sighed, leaning over his body and inspecting his pockets.

“Were you always so soft or did we make you so?” he asked the dead king.

The screen read _Moose_ and yeah, of course. Of course, Sammy would run looking for him into the open arms of the King of Hell. Dean chuckled but there was no laughter in it.

He pushed the button.

“Crowley! What the hell? We had a _deal_! You can’t just––”

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said, sitting back in his seat, “Making deals with demons? Hasn’t daddy taught you anything?”

At the word his heart almost quivered. Almost. His heart hadn’t bitten once since he was dead, so no name could affect him.

“Dean?” Sam was uncertain, full of hope. Tired. And maybe even angry. Dean was seeing the world in darker colors now and Sam wasn’t an exception.

“Dean… Dean, _please_ , come home. We’ll talk about this.”

Another chuckle escaped his lips but now Dean was amused.

“You realize that the only thing I’m doing if I’m _coming home_ is crashing your scull with my bare arms, right?”

Sam didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. Dean felt regret wash over him as if Sam had thrown his body into one of Hell’s best lakes. Dean wondered if Crowley had kept them.

“This is pointless, Sammy, I know everything that you have prepared,” Dean said, standing up and stepping to the mud of bodies, “The dungeon and human blood, and prayers and _talks_. Oh, and Cas,” there was a pause, and – _bingo_ – a distant flutter of feathers that Dean would have never heard when he had been human, “Hey, Cas. How are your wings?”

“Dean, we want to _help_.”

Cas’ voice was different to Dean’s ears now. The previous gruff that Dean had been mistaking for the angel’s inability to use his throat, now had an underside to it, a low trembling sound of his grace. It made Dean feel uneasy.

“I don’t think I’m gonna need it,” he walked slowly to the still working fridge. There were couple of bottles of beer, and Dean smiled, feeling lucky. “Now both of you are finally rid of me and can get back to making poor life choices and destroying the world. You’ve never needed me there, anyway. Not listening to me and all.”

The other thing he learned in Hell was that humans were terribly sensitive to words. He had known it before, of course, but he had never knew the way with them, how to use them to his own advantage.

Alastair had taught him how. The way he talked was so luscious and dangerous that leaning in and trying the words on his tongue had always been a secret desire of Dean’s.

Somehow, he wished that Alastair was still alive. He would torture those two poor examples of heroes into sobbing messes and Dean would gladly help him.

“What about _your_ choices, huh? The mark of Cain, for one?” Sam was lost and now his anger radiated through the speaker.

Dean gulped beer and leaned on the counter, “Well, at least my choices didn’t end the world. They just ended _me_ ,” he chuckled to himself, “I am a demon, and I can shamelessly admit that two of you are even worse than me.”

He checked on the clock. It’s been almost three minutes, and soon enough Sam was going to find his location and Cas was going to teleport them there. Dean heard it in their movements.

“Anything else we need to clear out?” There was dead silence on the other side and Dean shrugged, “All right. Let’s do this. I’ll be as honest with you two as a demon can be. First of all, Sam, you always fuck up big time. So you doing the trials? I didn’t care for you, I just knew that you would screw something up. And Cas? How does it feel knowing that every member of your fucked up family hates you? And they have every right to, with you cutting their wings off and all. And yeah, feeding on your brothers and sisters? That’s even worse than Sam’s demon blood addiction. You two are disgusting, and it’s coming from me, a demon. So, try to clear up your messes before taking on mine.”

With that Dean hung up, knowing that Sam needed a couple more seconds to find him. He gulped his beer again and tossed Crowley’s phone back at him. The demon was still dead, his blaring eyes still open wide. Dean closed his eyes for a moment.

“Nah, Crowley. You weren’t _that_ bad.”

There was a loud sound of swallowing and Dean turned his head to a newly arrived demon. It was just a low class one, one of Crowley’s messengers. Dean saw fear flash in his black eyes at the sight before him.

“K-king?”

Dean walked to him; First Blade held tightly in his hands, “He’s dead.”

The demon looked at him defensively and then moved into a fighting stance. Dean smirked. Of course he could kill him and be done with it, leaving the demons to decide what to do next.

But he had other plans.

Dean grabbed the demon by his throat, easily avoiding his punch attempt and pulled him up, “Go back and tell everyone I’m coming. Either they submit or I slaughter them all.”

With that he threw the messenger right next to Crowley’s body. The demon disappeared at once.

The line between evil and good was thin, Dean had always known that. As a demon that line was non-existent. There’s no bad or good, there’s only fun and boredom.

But as a being not completely made of darkness, Dean had his issues. So when there was a guy bothering a pretty girl – any other demon would just enjoy the show – Dean broke the guy’s face. Because right at that moment he wanted to be clear of what belonged to him. That guy had stepped into his territory and he had to pay for it.

And maybe something inside of his whimpered in vain that he had done so to defend the person that needed help but Dean didn’t care. One way or another, the guy had to learn.

That’s the saying, “Demons don’t bother with good or bad, all they care about is fun.” So Dean gave it back to them.

The first thing he did, when he marched into Hell, was make sure everyone knew what belonged to him. He brought Crowley’s head and hung it over his throne as a reminder.

He fought Crowley’s most loyal. Unsurprisingly, there were just few of them, so it didn’t take long. Then he fought those who wanted power for themselves. There were more of them, so Dean wasted some time there too.

“We won’t let a Winchester reign in Hell!” shouted one of the demons and others cheered and, well, you could understand them.

That’s when the hellhounds came running. The smell of Crowley’s defeat had spread all over the underground and Dean had started to wonder if Crowley had done something to them too. He hadn’t.

Dean could see them now and the sight was truly amazing. The darkened skin stitched to the hollow bones, blood dripping from countless fangs, eyes as red as Hell’s fire.

Dean wanted them that very moment. So, he took Crowley’s head from where it was hanging and threw it to them, letting them smell and lick and maybe even mourn, who knows.

“Your king is dead!” Dean shouted to the still crowd that didn’t dare to move in the presence of hellhounds, “But what kind of king was he? Did you even want him to be one? He was a salesman, nothing more. What did he know about fighting other than moving his wrist? What did he know about torture other than cutting fingers? What did he do to _Hell_?”

There was silence in the room and Dean loved the smell of the confusion, passing anger, slowly burned submission.

“I learned from _Alastair_ ,” Dean said, knowing that most of them remembered, “I killed _Abaddon_. You want to test my limits? Come on then.”

No one moved. As long as he had the first blade in his hands, no one would dare to fight. The room was full of bodies and it looked as pathetic as Dean had remembered it to be. He stepped back, rising onto the pedestal and walked to Crowley’s throne. With one motion of his hand, he threw the heavy wooden chair into the wall crushing it into hundreds of pieces.

“Monarchy is a human concept. Are _you_ humans?” there was some head shaking, “No? Then _act_ like it.”

In a matter of seconds black smoke released from the lifeless bodies leaving them fall on the burning ground. Finally, Dean saw the smoke for what it really was. He had missed it ever since he had returned from Hell.

Crowley had made everything he could to make this place look like Earth. Dean was going to destroy it. That three dimension thing was going to disappear as if it had never existed.

He would make the Hell he had dreamed about, even without Alastair.

He felt the hellhounds’ stare burn his skin slightly and turned to look at them. Their soulless gazes were pleading for him and at once Dean knew it was _that_ easy. Destroying one powerful being, you become one in their eyes. Dean would love having hellhounds on his side.

Dean smirked and nodded. At once those beasts ran to the pales of bodies and started their feast.

A predominance of blood and blackness covered the room. And that was almost the Hell Dean remembered.

He was going to rebuild it, make it the way he wanted it to for so long. He was going to get rid of everything that might remind sinful souls of Earth, make torturing more exotic and simple.

After he got all the not deserving souls back from Heaven – the ones that Crowley had sold to Angels for his own prosperity – Dean was going to extend Hell to the size of Heaven, as it was written in the holy book.

And then, after everything was set and done, he would go back to Earth and check on his brother. He would kill him and bring his soul down to Hell, to purify it from its brightness and make it into something beautiful. Sammy would understand; Dean was going to make _sure_ he would.

They would reign together and there would be nothing standing between them anymore.

The problem was Castiel.

That angel would do anything to stop Dean from accomplishing his dreams. And no matter how long Dean would wait, the angel would never age or weaken.

That was if Dean didn’t make sure he would.

But that could wait; what Dean needed right now was an army. He didn’t even care for their loyalty he just wanted them to fight on his side when the moment came. He needed to make the demons stronger.

 

Dean banned rising to Earth until proven worthy. He had encountered a lot of demons in his lifetime and it was almost funny how weak they had gotten since the gates of Hell had opened.

And surprisingly, the demons listened. Those chaotic bastards fluttered around him like he was their new Crowley and Dean found it convenient. Either way he wanted to puke every time they called him _Sire_.

_Sire._ That was something Crowley had taught him. _Pathetic_. Now, _master_ was something Dean could get behind.

The first time Dean got to spill innocent blood, he felt shivers run down his spine. The bitch shouted in pain and Dean felt everything return to him at once with the tears running down from her pretty blue eyes.

Dean hated that color.

_Oh, the first time you picked up my razor, the first time you sliced into that weeping bitch..._

History repeats itself. Dean made sure there was nothing left of the girl on his table when he finished her. The demons would sew her back together in couple of hours and Dean could start over again.

With every shift of Hell, every torture, every scream, he felt himself getting stronger as if there was Hellfire burning in his veins. Dean had never felt so powerful before and he could understand Crowley for wishing to be a king. But the king should have taken care of his kingdom and Crowley had done a poor job at that.

“You know what I love about this more than anything?” Dean whispered to one of the souls, tied to the iron table for Dean to play, “The look in your eyes.”

This time it was a boy, banned to Hell for fornication or some shit like that. The angels were _happy_ to give him away and he must have known that because there was so much regret in his eyes, so much fear.

Dean licked his lips, seeing his own reflection in those baby blues.

He carved them out of the boy’s head and smashed them in his hands making sure the boy felt every part of it.

When he finished with him, the boy was a withering mess and Dean thought that the demons wouldn’t have to sew this one together. At least not all of him. He left the boy when his eyes started growing back.

 

It was three Earth months later when the first demons got permission to get out of Hell and walk the Earth freely. Dean had a mission for them, and now, carved into perfect soldiers they listened to everything he had to say.

_Go visit my brother. Find out about the angel. Don’t be long._

Dean almost didn’t care about his brother other than that he was still alive. But the angel… as long as he was around, Dean had no chance of dragging Sam to Hell.

So he had to deal with that poor example of holiness first.

His demons returned with interesting news.

“They don’t talk to each other. Sam’s all alone, trying to find you. We can track him easily if you want, Master.”

Dean grinned to himself. Sam tried getting into Hell through Crowley’s loopholes, he tried summoning demons, _any_ demons, he tried killing himself only to be stopped by the ever guarding _Castiel_. Sam had tried everything and now, he was hopeless and alone.

The only thing that stopped Dean from commanding to bring Sam here was, yet again, the angel. He would always know that Sam was in trouble, always come saving him and if they caught Dean’s demons, well, Dean wasn’t that certain in their loyalty just yet.

So instead of sending his demons for his brother, he had sent them to have some fun on Earth instead. And as he had guessed, Sam and Castiel were tracking them after just a couple of days.

 

When Dean appeared, the place was a mess. The same mess Dean had left after dealing with the ex-king and his gang. Only this time it was much crueler. Dean grinned to himself examining his demons’ work. He actually felt proud.

There was nothing in him now that suggested pity for the killed humans and Dean wondered if all those thirty years he had spent in Hell were the reason for that. Dean squatted down in front of a particularly good work and traced his fingers over her split empty jaw, wondering what they had done to her tongue.

Dean had to admit, he was impressed. For the three dimensions, this was a particularly good job. He would have never admitted that to the demons, but he _was_ going to give them more souls when they return to Hell.

“Agent Moore? I’m the sheriff.”

Dean left the place, glancing at his brother for one last time. It could have been so easy to end him now. Not even killing every member of the gathered police would be troubling. But Sam was still too _good_ for Hell his soul shining too bright. Angels would bargain too high for him.

Dean wondered if the angel was watching him. He wanted to find out. He didn’t head to Hell the first thing. Instead, Dean went to a bar, ordered his favorite whiskey from when he was a human. It tasted like lit kerosene on his tongue. Dean preferred the taste of innocent blood on his tongue instead, the feeling of its thickness coating his throat, making it harder to breathe.

He looked around, wondering who could end up in his glass instead of that awful drink. The bar wasn’t full, as it was early morning but there were pretty faces here and there nonetheless. Dean could make it work.

The moment he touched the first blade, wings hovered the tiny booth he was sitting in. Dean grinned to himself.

“And here I thought I had to shed some blood for you to finally show yourself.”

He felt the angel’s hand over his where he gripped the blade. His skin felt like it was burning, melting but it was just a trick. Dean wasn’t an ordinary demon so the angel’s stolen grace couldn’t harm him as he would like to think it could.

“ _Dean_.”

Dean turned and stared into the blues, his eyes turning black.

The angel’s hand left his at once. Dean glanced down at his hand. It wasn’t even slightly  hurt.

He chuckled to himself, bringing the glass of gaseous whiskey to his lips, enjoying the angel’s glare.

“When’s Sammy gonna join us?”

The angel felt radiant sitting beside him, his energy filling the space between them. Even quiet and fading it made Dean feel as if sitting next to a dying star. Part of him went still, wanted to run, feared for his life.

This other part wanted to find out more.

So Dean didn’t move.

“He’s not coming.”

Dean couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his mouth. He turned to watch the angel and adored the expression of guilt painted all over his face.

“I want us to talk alone.”

Dean grinned, “Of course you do.”

He wanted to see more of the angel, wanted to find out what he was able to do to him, how he could break him physically and emotionally. And knowing how the angel had felt about him when he was human; it eased the challenge.

Dean had to find a way of agitating certain parts of _his dear friend_ so that he would willingly fall into Dean’s arms. And maybe Sam wouldn’t be the only one Dean would share his throne with. After all, a fallen angel would be much more significant addition to the army than an ordinary demon.

The angel touched his shoulder and Dean felt the burning again. He loved the weight of Castiel’s hand. He wondered if he would be able to pin this wonderful, strong creature down with his bare hands and use him for his own pleasure. He wondered if he could make him beg.

His eyes traced the skin underneath the clothes and Dean licked his lips.

“Do you even _listen_ to me?” the angel exclaimed furiously.

Dean smiled, adoring the color of Castiel’s cheeks. He wondered how well pink would suit other parts of his body.

“Stop it.” Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed.

Dean chuckled and gulped whiskey, missing the weight of the angel’s hand on his shoulder. He recalled everything Castiel had told him and thought about it.

He wasn’t surprised that he was willing to make a deal with Dean. Actually, Dean was expecting it, for the angel could hear the rumors and Dean made it damn sure that the rumors of his reign would reach the highs of Heaven. And even an angel as small and weak as Castiel must have heard them.

What Castiel was suggesting, was a weak deal.

“What do you want then?”

Dean considered it. Castiel wanted him to get away from Sam, to never as much as think about killing him or corrupting his soul. It was a big request he was asking. His whole demon existence was established on certain goals. And now he was being asked to overlook one of them. Dean wondered if he could do it.

Castiel’s hand on his shoulder returned with a sharp blow, making Dean properly lift his head and look at him.

“Stop this _game_. I asked you a question. What do you _want_?”

Dean watched the angel’s features light up with a dim bluish light and reminded himself that bargaining with him was an actual angel.

“So the other angels turned their backs on you,” Dean stated, finally talking to the angel, “They abandoned you and my little brother. And now, knowing how strong and powerful I am, you come to me and ask to forget everything I worked so hard on?”

Castiel clenched his jaw and Dean could feel the light soften, as if submitting. The angel lowered his head, “I _am_ desperate, if that’s what you want to hear.”

Now that straightened Dean up. Actually, that _was_ something Dean wanted to hear, as surprised as he was.

“Sam is everything I’ve got. And I would do anything to protect him. But I will not beg.”

Dean chuckled and shrugged, turning away, “Then what’s the point.”

The angel pulled on his shoulder with an excessive force than before, “The _point_ is… I’m willing to bargain.” Dean waited for him to continue, “What would you want for Sam’s safety and quiet life?”

Dean breathed in. He loved this but he couldn’t let himself think of how much he enjoyed it. Instead, Dean thought of how little satisfaction this conversation brought him. He thought of how could he possibly abandon his little brother and let him fall into the hands of angels once he’s dead. Dean thought of money and souls and then shook his head because nothing could buy his little brother’s soul.

Dean felt Castiel stiffen beside him and smirked. He looked the angel over again and then shrugged, “I can’t think of anything.”

Castiel swallowed, despair radiating from him so bright Dean didn’t even have to read into the light. The angel was lost and Dean was ready to throw him a bone.

“Can _you_ think of anyone who would be of a similar value to me as my little brother?”

It took Dean all the self-control he got not to burst out laughing when the angel started actually _thinking_ of the answer to that question. Oh, such a poor thing; he thought so little of himself. He didn’t even think once he was much like a brother to Dean.

Dean shook his head. That was unbelievable. Sad, even.

“The only thing I can offer you right now is… my service.”

_Finally_.

Dean took a deep breath and frowned, “Your service? What is your service even good for, huh, angel?” He moved closer to the glowing body, his hand closing over his neck easily, burning with the light, “You’re dying, you’re weak. You’re _broken_. What good are you to me?”

Castiel’s hand gripped his and Dean felt like he would burn out any second now.

“But I’m not dead, am I?” the angel said, his eyes flashing with hatred, “As long as I’m alive, as long as you’re pleased with me, you won’t touch Sam. That is the deal.”

Dean considered it. “And you’re gonna do _anything_ I ask of you? And trust me when I say my requests _are_ explicit.”

The demon watched blue eyes shimmer with doubt and Dean allowed him to think. When the angel took his hand off Dean’s arm, the decision was made. And Dean smiled when the angel nodded.

“Anything.”

“Say the words then.”

The angel didn’t flinch. “As long as Sam’s out of your reach, I belong to you.”

Dean searched for lies in the bright pure blues but there were none. He took his hand off the angel’s neck and moved closer, a small smile betraying him.

“Let’s seal the deal then.”

Before the angel could say anything, Dean grabbed his chin and smashed their mouths together. He felt the light enter him and groaned with anticipation. He _loved_ this feeling of burning and the angel’s distressed moans were like music to his ears. Dean wondered what other sounds the angel could produce.

But that would be a pleasure for another time.

Dean leaned back, pleased with the sight of the angel following his lips like a thirsty man seeking water. He chuckled, his hand running through dark hair and tugging it slightly.

“Don’t worry, angel, we’ll have plenty of time for that.”

His hand came to rest on the angel’s tie and Dean smirked thinking of the ways to use it.

“Hey, guys, you’ve heard it,” Dean shouted, turning back to the bar, “An angel belongs to us, to _me_! Let’s celebrate it.”

There were five demons in the bar and they smiled. One of them walked to the entrance and locked the door. Dean saw the faces of people, heard them demand answers, couple of them grabbing their phones already.

Dean smiled at the image of demons tearing humans apart.

He lifted the glass to his lips and inhaled the smell of whiskey mixed with blood. _That_ was a drink Dean actually enjoyed.

He felt the angel burning with hatred and disgust. He knew that he could snap any minute and wouldn’t even care for the deal they had _just_ sealed. So Dean moved back to him, his knee coming to rest on the surface of the chair as Dean leaned closer to the angel, his hand still holding him by the tie.

Dean’s lips closed over his earlobe. He bit it slightly, feeling the angel’s confusion leak through the light, “Do you like it, angel?”

Dean’s words were followed by a particularly loud scream and he chuckled into Castiel’s ear, when the angel stiffened. His chest fluttered like a bird’s wings and Dean wondered if the angel would snap that fast.

“So this is all it takes for you to break?” Dean whispered, one of his hands snaking into the collar of the angel’s shirt, “Deaths of four drunkards?”

Castiel shook, his fingers digging in the wood of the chair. Splash of blood landed on his face and the angel turned away. He looked so good like that, covered in blood. Dean had to remember that for other occasions.

The demon touched droplets of blood on Castiel’s face and then lowered his reddened fingers to the plush lips. The angel looked at him at once, his lips opening up prettily.

Dean smiled, _good boy_ , he thought as his fingers disappeared into the holy mouth.

 

When Dean finally returned to Hell, he found his new pet a significant present.

Since Castiel had first appeared, every demon was practically blinded in his presence. His wings and halo were burning their skins without as much as brushing against them. The souls started feeling hopeful again at the sight of an angel and became harder to torture.

So Dean had a couple of his best craftsman busy with work for several weeks until they had made something beautifully _symbolic_ ; a perfect collar with _Enochian_ words carved on it just for Castiel. The moment Dean secured the thing over Castiel’s neck, the brightness hollowed, wings and halo disappeared in black fire and the angel fell down on his knees, screaming.

Dean loved the collar already.

As it turned out, the angel could feel the constant burning of everything that made him holy every moment of his existence while the collar was on him.

Dean soldered the lock.

It wasn’t long before the angel begged him to take it off.

He crawled to Dean on all fours, when the demon returned to his room after another day of torturing the souls and ignoring angels. Head hang low, limbs shaking, a white attire making him look like an angel from those old paintings.

Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He squatted down and hooked his bloody fingers under the angel’s chin. Baby blues stared at him like Dean could hang the sun in the sky. Dean couldn’t help but stroke the angel’s cheek gently, leaving a trace of blood on clean skin.

“Please… please…”

Poor thing sounded like that was the only word he could remember. Dean dropped to his knees, taking Castiel’s face in his hands. “What is it, angel?”

This once powerful being deduced to _that_. Dean almost felt sorry.

“Take it off… I’ll do anything––Dean… _Dean_ …”

Dean’s fingers ran through dark soft hair as he pretended not to understand the demand. He was still not sure of just how much power the collar took away from the angel, so he was being cautious. Castiel was smart, deadly smart, so it all could be a part of the plan.

Dean didn’t want to lose because of a pair of blue eyes.

“You want me to take off your pretty collar?” Dean asked, fingers stroking the leather. When Castiel nodded, Dean shrugged, “Why?”

They had this conversation before, hundreds of times. Still, each day like a clock, Castiel begged for the same thing, his pleas getting more and more desperate every time Dean turned his back and left.

“It _hurts_ … hurts so much…”

“Shhh,” the angel trembled and Dean took him into his arms, holding him tightly, “It’s okay. It’s _supposed_ to hurt.”

“Dean––”

Another sound from the angel and Dean was afraid he could give into the pretty pleas. So he pushed Castiel on the floor, letting him fall as his hands stretched out to Dean.

Dean loved it. How weak and useless the angel was. How his emotions took over him, making him nothing but a mess. There was nothing of a powerful angel in this pathetic little thing curling onto himself on the floor of his room and Dean loved everything about it.

“Why can’t you understand?”

Dean stood up and walked towards the shaking angel. He was trying so hard not to cry, not to show that he’s hurting. Dean could only imagine that pain; millions of hell flames inside of the bones burning him again and again. And still Castiel tried so hard.

Dean shoved the angel’s shoulder with his leg, making the angel roll onto his back. Glassy eyes looked up at him and Dean knew that one day they would be the death of him.

He straddled his angel’s chest, lifting the head so that the angel had no other choice but to look back into his black eyes.

“I can’t take it off, Cas,” Dean whispered, “You’re hurting my demons.”

The angel’s fingers curled around his wrist tightly and Dean smiled. There was still great power in him. It just needed to be restrained for a little while before it could be let out again.

“I–I won’t hurt them… Dean, I promise, I won’t.”

Dean caressed his hair, his cheeks, liking the way blood suited that innocent face, “Oh, but you _will_.”

Castiel’s head shook, as tears rolled down his cheeks. “ _Please_.”

Dean was too soft, some part of him begging himself to listen to his friend. Dean sighed, “All right.”

The blue eyes blinked in disbelief as Dean stood up again and walked towards the bed. Castiel sat on his knees, watching Dean. He was still shaking, his eyes still wet, but he was silent. Dean looked at the angel and he knew he was wondering what had gotten into him, giving into Castiel’s prayer like that.

“If you prove to me that your light has faded enough that my demons won’t see it from outside of my room…” Dean threw his hands in the air, “I’ll take it off.”

Castiel stared at him wide-eyed as if not believing Dean’s words. He thought for a moment, “You want me to fall. To sin.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted, “ _Me_? I thought you were the one who wanted the collar off.”

Castiel thought. Dean could feel it, even with the light buried deep inside of him. Dean could still know what Castiel wanted, what had troubled him most. So he let the angel think. If not today, there were plenty of days to look ahead to.

Dean cleaned the blood off his hands with the bed covers.

“What should I do?”

Dean smiled to himself. _Finally_. Just eighteen years of waiting. He silently congratulated himself.

 

As Castiel carved into a soul, his lips moved whispering a prayer to his Father. His hands were shaking either of disgust or pain but he cut the chest until it was wide open and glanced at Dean for approval.

Dean smiled.

Castiel was an angel, he knew how to torture; he had done it more times that Dean would ever have a chance to. And Dean could see it in a perfect way that he managed to complete his task.

“Take everything out.”

Castiel shivered for just a moment. His knife cut deeply into the soul, hands digging into it. Dean held out a bucket and everything was thrown into it. The soul was empty but it was still screaming over a gag in its mouth. Dean saw the way Castiel never looked it in the eyes and knew he had to deal with that as well.

He ordered Castiel to fill the soul with liquid iron and pursing his lips his pet did everything that was asked of him. He turned away as a demon started stitching the sides of the soul’s chest together.

Dean turned him around, standing behind him. His hand rested on Castiel’s chin as he made him look. “How can you turn away from such a pretty work of art?”

Dean’s voice was fire in his ears. Castiel swallowed, his gaze travelling over the abused body, knowing that it was his hands that had done it. As rage filled him, Dean could almost feel the burning wings with his chest.

Dean stroked the angel’s shoulders, rubbing them slightly, his hands caressing down his arms, down his thighs, then underneath the dress. Castiel’s skin was still soft.

Dean leaned into him, his lips slightly brushing over the skin on his neck. “Stop resisting it.”

The soul cried as its chest healed and iron cooled down inside of him. Dean felt as Castiel shivered, his eyes glued to the thing obediently. Dean brushed his lips over the angel’s ear one last time.

“Go, heal him.”

It took Castiel a moment to realize what Dean asked him to do. His hand shook as he touched the forehead of the soul. It shuddered staring at the angel wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry I did this to you,” Castiel whispered.

He closed his eyes and frowned, concentrating. Soft light peaked from underneath his palm and spread all over the soul. Dean watched Castiel shake his jaws clenched tightly as the light settled over the body and sank into it.

Castiel fell to his knees, breathing hard. His hands were trembling as they held him above the bloody ground. The light disappeared from his eyes and Castiel shut them tightly, as if trying to get it back.

Dean glanced at the body, inspecting it. The soul was fully restored, calm even; dreaming. Dean chuckled to himself.

He waved his hand and the demons who had gathered around at the light, weapons held tight in their hands, stopped staring.

 

Dean stroked his favorite hellhound’s burnt skin and it mewled sweetly under its breath. He rarely had moments like this, now that he had his angel, and Dean didn’t want to waste his time on plans and other pointless thoughts. But the episode of healing had him thinking.

Castiel had already tortured souls, people and demons long before Dean had ordered him to do so. No wonder it didn’t affect his little angel in any way.

_You want me to sin._

Dean rolled his eyes at the obvious.

He gestured at one of his most loyal demons to come closer while he was watching Castiel the entire time.

“So how many sins were there? Biblically, I mean.”

The demon frowned for a second, “, master, why?” He followed Dean’s gaze and smirked knowing what was in Dean’s mind, “Want me to take care of it?”

Dean watched as Castiel prayed and shook his head.

“There’s no need.”

 

Dean dug his teeth into the burger and moaned around it loud enough to attract attention from people around them. He was aware of Castiel’s examining stare but couldn’t give a damn about it.

If he was honest with himself he actually missed the taste of real food. Especially burgers. Thinking about it, it actually was the only thing that Hell lacked. Fucking delicious food.

Dean made another bite and moaned again just as loud.

“Dean, please,” Castiel whispered, leaning closer to him, where he sat across the table, similar burger lying in front of him, “What are we doing here? Let’s go back.”

Dean chuckled, his mouth full of food and swallowed it, washing down with beer.

“I’m _serious_ ,” his blue eyes almost glowed, as much as the collar would let them, “I thought you wanted to…” his voice got lower as he talked, “teach me…”

Dean watched as the angel swallowed and sat back in his seat, avoiding Dean’s eyes. He grinned but hid it behind the burger, chewing the last piece of it. His gaze traveled along Castiel’s slightly revealed chest, over the collar and to his pink cheeks.

Oh, Dean _loved_ that color.

He licked his lips thinking of what he could really teach the angel. How to crawl with his hands tied behind his back; how to beg prettily to get what you want; how to moan when you can’t stay quiet and how to stay quiet when all you want to do is scream until your throat’s sore.

Dean breathed hard and watched as Castiel swallowed, the pink on his cheeks deepening.

The angel pretended not to hear that. He pretended to be weaker than he really was and Dean loved the game they were playing. So he continued.

And it wasn’t really hard to imagine all the things he wanted to do the angel; all the things that would make him fall hard and fast. He imagined those lips stretched prettily, tears in the corners of those pretty blues running down abused cheeks.

Dean leaned back, drinking beer, relishing the way Castiel tried to even out his breathing, as Dean loaded his mind with images of surrender, of the pleasure he would be given would he just say _yes_. Dean made sure the angel visualized thrill it was to have somebody between your legs, satisfying your every need and more. With hands tied above your head, nothing would be asked of you, just the simple task of enjoying yourself.

Oh, and he _would_ enjoy himself. Dean would make sure he would.

Dean flicked his tongue, pouring the images into Castiel’s head.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!”

Dean smirked as Castiel stormed out of the diner. He followed the angel soon after. He winked to the people staring at him and paid the waitress extra for the noise.

Castiel was standing outside of the diner, leaning on the wall, catching his breath. As soon as Dean walked outside, he turned around, striking a defensive pose.

“I promised to serve you. I didn’t agree to be your _sex toy_ whenever you get bored,” Castiel voice was gravel, that low trembling sound of his weakened grace still there.

Dean shrugged, “Hate to break it out to ya, but those are the same things.”

Castiel looked at him wide-eyed and frowned, “No.”

Of course, Castiel wouldn’t think that true. He was a warrior of GodTM. When he signed up to do whatever Dean told him to, he was expecting to fight in the battles, he was expecting to be his personal guard in Hell or some kind of shit like that.

And maybe Dean would make him do all those stuff, but the thing was, he didn’t need Castiel to do any of that. He was not at war with either Heaven or Hell’s minorities. Nor did he need to be guarded, ‘cause he gave every demon a job, and everyone was too busy torturing or being tortured to really care of who was at the top.

Maybe one day angels would give a damn and decide to fight him, realizing that Hell expanded far too much. But as for right now, angels showed themselves for trading only.

So, there really wasn’t any danger hanging above his head.

Castiel frowned, “Then why did you… why did you agree to take the deal? If you don’t need my powers?”

Dean wondered if this still was part of the play; if the angel wanted to test his limits, wanted to see him fall apart the way that Dean wanted to see _him_ fall apart.

But Castiel looked so _honest_ and curious when he stared at him waiting for an answer that Dean couldn’t believe it was a game this time.

He stepped closer to his angel, his hands gripping the panels of the trench coat that he had made angel wear. Dean pulled him slightly closer to himself and Castiel’s breath hitched.

Dean held him like that for a while, waiting until the angel averted his gaze and leaned in, “Don’t you dare pretend that you don’t understand.”

Castiel looked him into the eyes, his breath hard as his chest puffed up.

When he opened his mouth, Dean shook him by the panels of the coat, “You’re a big boy, Cas. When you made that deal, you knew damn well what I’d make you do. It was _your_ choice. So don’t you play the innocent card with me, sweetheart.”

Dean didn’t miss the way Castiel’s gaze flickered to his lips couple of times, the way he breathed hard, the way his tongue licked his lips. He saw everything he needed to. The angel was radiant in his arms but this time the feeling was different.

Dean leaned down, his head tilting to the side and Castiel stiffened. They breathed the same air, their lips just a couple of inches away. The angel leaned in and Dean almost let his smirk slip.

“If I wanted to fuck you I’d have done that a long time ago, believe me,” the demon murmured into parted lips.

When Dean walked past him, Castiel followed.

 

It wasn’t hard for them to find a place to play. A house of two just married lovebirds. Great hosts, wonderful guests, fantastic whiskey – Dean couldn’t have asked for more.

He relished the screams as his demons tore into the flesh of humans; he breathed in the smell of chaos and agony, his insides crying in ecstasy. Dean didn’t even have to do anything the show that his demons were putting was good enough to make him a little dizzy.

His eyes turned to black as his gaze fell on the angel. He was sitting in the corner surrounded by every bottle of alcohol that the demons had found in the house. Dean had told him to drink it all.

Castiel emptied the fifth bottle and threw it into the wall like a child would throw a broken toy. It shattered over the head of a newlywed guy. Demons beat his face until it was nothing but a mess, his throat choking over his own blood.

Castiel opened another bottle and drank it hungrily, liquid running over his jaw and neck underneath his collar. Dean licked his lips following the stream with his gaze. He felt the angel’s stare and turned away.

“Please, please…”

A pretty, blonde girl was being pushed around like a toy, her hands tied behind her back, as demons caught her. Their hands traveled over her body as if it was nothing but a doll to please their desires.

“Bring her to me.”

Demons complied at once and the blonde was pushed down on her knees between Dean’s legs. The demons walked away, searching for another entertainment.

The girl sobbed, whispering _please please_ and Dean licked his lips, enjoying the view. He could feel the angel’s gaze altering between the two of them and wondered if he could play a little too. He pretended that he hadn’t noticed it though and leaned down, his hand stroking the girl’s cheek gently. She squinted, her lips shaking, as more tears streamed down her face.

“What do you say, Cas? Wanna have a little fun with her?”

The girl sobbed, tears running through Dean’s fingers. He could feel Castiel shift in his seat, his glossy eyes following Dean’s hands and down the girl’s neck, completely ignoring her pleas. As his gaze got lower, Dean grabbed the girl’s shirt and tore it apart, revealing her breasts to the angel, who was now licking his lips absentmindedly.

The girl yelped, hanging her head in shame.

“Come here, angel.”

Castiel obeyed, watching the girl the entire time as he moved closer to where she was kneeling prettily.

“Touch her,” Dean ordered.

Castiel complied at once compared with when Dean told him to get hammered. It was much easier for him to abuse an innocent girl than get drunk and Dean wondered if that could be because the angel was tipsy already.

In any case, it looked surprisingly simple for him to get down on his knees in front of Dean and reach out to the girl. She shook, trying to get away from him, her knees bleeding where she scratched them against the floor. When the angel moved closer, the girl leaned back and lost her balance. She fell on her tied hands with another yelp.

Castiel moved over her.

“Please, I have kids––six and four…”

The angel’s hands froze where they were held out before the girl. He blinked as if trying to understand what she was saying.

“Please, don’t kill me, please, I’m _begging_ you… They have no one but me… _no one_ … Please, don’t kill me.”

Dean could tell him to do it, could tell him to continue and he knew that Castiel would oblige. But he didn’t. He waited patiently for Castiel to complete his task, because he was a good boy like that.

Castiel touched her cheek the same way as Dean had done just a minute ago. The girl shook in his arms and then calmed down, falling unconscious, her knees healed completely.

The angel didn’t move his hands folded neatly over his lap where he was still kneeling.

Dean leaned back in his chair and gulped whiskey. He watched the angel, waited for him to move, but he didn’t.

“And? How long do I have to wait?” Castiel swallowed but stayed motionless otherwise.

“I said _touch her_.”

“No.” The glass shattered in Dean’s grip and Castiel stared. “I am not going to hurt her. I can’t.”

Dean grabbed his hair, pushing his head, until the angel was looking at him. There was nothing in his eyes, no anger or disgust; no regret. Dean stared into the expression of holiness.

His hold tightened and Dean bared Castiel’s throat.

“You want to test me, Cas? All right.”

With one motion of his wrist, the angel flew into the wall, his back arching with pain. He slid down it breathing hard. All the demons stopped what they had been doing and stared at the scene.

“You think you can do whatever the fuck you want and get away with it?” The angel’s body slid up the wall and his mouth opened, hands gripping over nothing, as his collar choked him. “You ain’t that special, angel.”

Castiel was hovering underneath the ceiling already, and every demon watched as the soft-bluish light glimmered to survive against Dean’s force.

“ _Dean_.”

A soft shadow appeared behind the angel, as his wings unfolded. Burning in fire, they struggled to get Castiel free. Dean watched as feathers fell down the wall and disappeared in the darkness.

“What d’ya say, guys?” Dean turned to the demons, their eyes wide in shock, as an angel was made undone before them, “Is he worth it?”

Nobody answered. The demons were actually scared to say something wrong, given the complicated relationship between the two. But Dean knew what he was going to do already.

The demons stared at the scene like it was a marvel. A demon defeating an angel. And it didn’t matter that the angel was battered, weakened, tortured; nor did it matter that Dean wasn’t just any demon. They still looked at him like he was the Antichrist himself.

Castiel’s body started shuddering as he mouthed Dean’s name like a prayer. The glow started fading away and it was only a matter of time until the angel would stop fighting.

With the last shimmer of the light, Castiel fell down.

Dean knew he should feel triumphant knowing that with just a flick of his wrist he could damage an angel; not just any but a _seraph_ , a warrior. But looking at the barely breathing Castiel, he found no joy in the view.

The angel was a wreck and Dean wanted to throw up.

 “Get back to work!”

The demons complied, leaving their meat suits at once. Black smoke hovered underneath the ceiling and disappeared through the broken windows. It got deafeningly silent in an instant.

Dean paced the room, his hand running through his hair.

“You know,” he said, stopping, “As far as I remember the deal was that I don’t touch Sam until I’m pleased with you, right? Well, it looks like I no longer am.”

There was shuffling in the corner, and the angel stuttered _no_.

Dean sighed and turned around, “You don’t give me any choice, Cas. You disobey my orders, tell _me_ what to do, get all holy with me and other demons. Don’t even pretend to fight when I’m killing you. And I can’t shake the feeling that you’re just,” Dean waved his hands, “ _Testing_ me.”

Castiel’s eyes were glowing when Dean came closer to him. He was empty, weak, shattered, but hearing Sam’s name, it did something to him. He sat straighter, his hands wounded after he had landed on broken glass.

Dean wondered if he should kill him now, or let the angels do it for him. Oh, and they would.

They’d come running for Castiel as soon as Dean gets the note up there that the angel is no longer under his protection. They’d tear him a new one. Forget that justice bullshit, there would be no cells or cages. There’d be only torture and punishment for everything he did to his brothers and sisters.

And they wouldn’t be as forgiving as Dean was, ‘cause unlike him they had never had souls and didn’t know what mercy was.

Dean squatted down in front of Castiel, “So remind me again why I shouldn’t just kill you and proceed with plan A?”

Castiel breathed out, his bruises healing slowly. Blue eyes filled with light and Dean allowed it to spread all over the room. When it disappeared, the angel was as good as new, his ragged breathing – the only indication of his true state.

Leaning on the wall, the angel stood up. “I can fight.”

If it was any other demon, Dean would’ve just snapped his fingers and killed him without giving it any second thought. If it was any human or monster or even angel, Dean would’ve done the same and wouldn’t have regretted it one bit.

But he couldn’t bring himself to kill Castiel. For whatever reason, he wanted to have him for himself as long as he could.

“Prove it.”

Angel blade slid from his sleeve and the edge would have slit Dean’s throat if he hadn’t grabbed Castiel’s wrist in time.

“Not bad,” he smirked, pushing the angel’s hand away and grabbing the first blade. “Let’s see how long you can last.”

The blades collided and the whole room shivered as if it was a living being. Castiel’s eyes glowed into Dean’s black ones and Dean felt shivers for the first time since he had died. He was actually surprised at how much he was enjoying it.

Castiel had lasted for almost two hours, which was petty badass considering the fading off grace, broken wings and the collar, of course.

When he fell for the last time, first rays landed on his face, making blood look like art. And if Dean could still feel his heart would have quivered in his chest at the sight.

Castiel coughed out more of blood as he tried to roll on the stomach. His hands shook where they supported his weight and Castiel fell.

“That’s enough,” Dean announced, hiding the first blade back behind his jacket.

“No,” the Angel growled through clenched teeth, “I’m not done yet…”

He managed to stand up, the blade held loosely in his hands as blood dropped down on the floor. He attacked Dean and Dean caught his arm easily, swinging it so the angel had no other choice but let the weapon fall. Dean turned him around, holding Castiel tightly to his chest.

“I said, _that’s enough_.”

Castiel moved in his arms, trying to get away, but by this time, he was too tired and worn out to succeed. He stubbornly let the remaining of his borrowed grace flow through him, burning Dean’s front completely.

“Cas!”

“Don’t _call_ me that!”

With one last breath Castiel fell limp in Dean’s arms. Dean held him until the angel found strength to stand on his own and loosened his grip where he was grasping abused wrists.

“I can fight. I promise,” the angel whispered, “Don’t hurt Sam.”

Dean let Castiel slide to the floor next to the angel blade but the moment he was just inches away from it, he did nothing. The angel just sat there with his head bowed.

“I’m sorry I disobeyed your orders. I’m sorry I talked back. I’m sorry I was useless. I’m willing to change.”

Dean grinned.

 

Maybe that had been the first time that Castiel had not lied to him. But Dean could make himself believe that much later.

Castiel dug the knife into a soul, his other hand choking as it held it by the neck. The blade broke through the skin and buried deep inside of the thing. Castiel made sure it was secure there and removed his hand from the throat. He walked towards the stand and ran his fingers over other weapons. Dean watched as his long fingers curled over the handle of one particularly interesting instrument.

Blue eyes flickered with interest and the angel put it back. Dean was pretty sure he had decided to use it some other time.

Instead of another knife, Castiel grabbed a twine and examined it. He thought for a moment and nodded to himself.

Walking back to the soul, Castiel looked it right into its hollow eyes. The soul shrieked, begging for forgiveness. The angel didn’t even flinch when his fingers secured the end of the twine into the tiny circle in the knife. Castiel then proceeded to stretch the twine into the holes of all the other knives sticking neatly from the soul’s body.

After the last knife was tied, Castiel looked at his creation. By the look he gave it, the angel didn’t like the way it turned out. But Dean was just shooting in the dark because these days it was really hard to guess what the angel was thinking.

And Dean liked it.

He was ready to give Castiel some more time.

Finally, the angel started moving again. He grabbed another end of the twine and that’s when Dean knew what was going to happen. With a slight motion of his hand, the knives were pushed out of the soul, blood splashing all over the room, screams attracting other demons’ attention.

By the time the last knife left his body, the soul was already unconscious.

Castiel frowned, “I made a mistake.”

Dean smiled to himself, motioning the demons to take care of the mess that the room had turned into.

“Actually, two mistakes,” Dean corrected and the angel looked at him, waiting to take the notes like a good student he was, “But let’s get clean first.”

Castiel looked around as if only now noticing that he was completely covered in blood and tiny part of the soul’s insides.

_Oh._

Dean took the angel’s hand and led him through the crowd and stands, chains, and what were supposed to be walls into their room that Dean had expanded just for them.

The bathtub was already full and Dean hurried to undress his angel, not really caring about the blood dripping down from them. Castiel stared at him, his blue eyes a perfect contrast to the red covering every part of his face.

Dean got him completely naked and touched his face, his thumb rubbing the blood off the angel’s cheek, “Undress me.”

Castiel complied. He unbuttoned Dean’s shirt and took it off him. Then the undershirt, then the pants and the underwear. After that he straightened up and searched for approval in Dean’s eyes.

Dean smiled and took his hand again, “Come on.”

They dove into the bathtub like it was the only piece of Heaven in that pithole they called home. Dean used a washcloth to clean the blood off Castiel’s chest, neck and face, his hands brushing gently over the still soft skin.

There was no noise in the room but the whisper of the water and the occasional cries from outside. And still Castiel was stiff against his chest.

“Something bothering you?”

The angel sighed, “I… I made mistakes. Serious mistakes. Like allowing the soul to go unconscious before I could finish it. Making it messy… It’s the first thing you taught me to avoid.” Dean nodded against his shoulder, tasting the light on the tender skin with his lips, “I am to be punished, right?”

Dean chuckled into Castiel’s neck.

Yeah, usually Dean would have punished the angel for the mistakes like this; for _any_ kind of mistakes, secretly loving that he could do that. And with such a solid reason as to educate an ignorant student…

Dean really enjoyed the times Castiel fucked up.

Thinking about it now, Dean hadn’t punished Castiel for quite some time now. As Dean’s lips brushed over the now leather collar, Dean remembered that Castiel hadn’t made any mistakes since Dean gave him it.

It held back much less of his powers, not hurting him as much as the first one, not to the point of falling to his knees and begging to take it off. And Castiel actually got used to the pain caused by this one; at least he  never complained about the new collar.

Even demons didn’t complain about it. When Castiel shined like a sun in the underworld, occasionally burning demons as his wings brushed against them when he tortured the souls, they just growled at him but couldn’t do anything to Dean’s favorite.

Castiel’s wings were healing, despite the collar and the dying grace; they were in much better shape than when Castiel had just agreed to become Dean’s pet.

Dean brushed his hands over the soft light of his wings, feeling his skin steam in its holiness. But after all these years together in Hell, the effect from the light was much lighter than before. It didn’t take long for Dean to heal and it was all worth it, being able to touch the angel’s weakest spot.

“Dean,” Castiel groaned, turning so he could look at the demon, “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Dean grinned, his other hand coming to caress the other wing and Castiel moaned. “Worried about me?”

Of course, he was. The angel belonged to him body and grace and after all the bickering and fighting and trying to make Dean _good_ , he had finally given up and accepted the _new_ Dean. And he loved him as much as the old one.

Dean made sure of it.

Castiel bit his lip and shifted slightly, when Dean lowered his hand between the angel’s legs. He stroked the half hard cock, kissing Castiel’s shoulder slightly.

“You know, it’s almost been one hundred years,” Dean murmured into the angel’s ear as the body shivered against him, “You’ve managed to last a whole lot down here I’ll give you that.”

Castiel moaned, his hand gripping Dean’s wrist tightly, “ _Dean._ ”

The demon grinned, biting on his earlobe slightly. He moved his hand faster, bringing the angel closer to the edge of pleasure, relishing the sounds he was trying to hold back. Castiel stilled in his hands suddenly and burst all over Dean’s hand, screaming his name like a prayer.

“I want to give you something,” Dean whispered after the angel settled down in his hands. “You can call it an anniversary present.”

Castiel turned around, his eyes studying the demon. Dean had gotten used to the way he would examine him. This time Castiel looked at him with a mixture of wonder and awe and Dean couldn’t help but smile.

“Present?” he asked, his eyes narrowing a bit, almost suspiciously.

Dean chuckled, “Yeah.”

Castiel didn’t ask anything else even though Dean knew that he wanted to. He behaved like a good boy, never testing his bonds, never giving Dean a reason to be angry or disappointed. Dean loved what his angel turned out to be, such an obedient little thing. And even though Castiel was almost as free as any demon, he still searched for permission in Dean’s eyes.

“But you’ll have to earn it first,” Dean murmured.

Castiel locked their lips, his hand landing on the back of Dean’s neck. His kisses were chaste and pure; Dean wondered how it was possible. One hundred years of torturing and fighting and Castiel somehow still managed to be an angel.

Dean deepened the kiss, his tongue parting Castiel’s lips. The angel straddled his lap, both of his hands landing on Dean’s chest for balance, smearing some blood on it. Dean didn’t even have to tell him anything. Castiel started moving, moaning prettily, his head hanging down shamefully.

Dean grabbed the angel’s chin and lifted it. Blue eyes were shining and Dean felt like he could die from the glance alone. Castiel wanted to turn away, close his eyes but Dean held him.

“Control yourself,” he whispered, “You don’t want me to die, do you?”

Castiel looked terrified. He made a noise that sounded like sobbing. Dean thrust into him, water splashing from the bathtub. The glowing deepened and Castiel shivered.

“Dean, _please_ ––”

“No.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the angel rasped, the sacred confession falling so easily from his parted lips.

Dean grabbed Castiel’s face in both of his hands, giving the angel no other choice but to look at him, “Then don’t.”

The demon felt as his insides heated up, his hands felt like melting in the holy light. Castiel looked at him wide-eyed as if Dean would really let the angel kill him.

He thrusted deeper into Castiel, watching the light get brighter with every slam. And then it faded away suddenly, leaving Dean in cold, safety and sweet release.

Dean grinned, “Good boy.”

 

The house was a mess when the angels arrived. This time Dean didn’t need the help of the demons. Castiel did everything Dean had told him to, while he savored the view of the holy creature with the rim of the halo still visible just above his head sink his teeth into the flesh of a weeping man and cut it as if it was the best steak in the world.

He had slit the throat of a woman without the demon even instructing him to; her blood leaked into a glass and Castiel gave it to Dean once it was full. The angel had that tiny proud smile on his face when Dean thanked him. His face light up and he looked honest to god pure with blood drippling from the reddened lips down on the black t-shirt.

“Everything is prepared,” Castiel announced, standing aside.

Dean didn’t even have to examine the place to know that his pet did everything right.

Three angels appeared with the flaps of their wings. They were so much brighter and purer than Castiel’s, causing Dean to blink several times to get used to their collective lightness.

The angels were pissed and annoyed – aren’t they always? – and glaring at Castiel like he was the reason of all their misfortunes. And maybe he was, but Dean didn’t care one bit.

“What do you want, _Winchester_?” one of the angels spat at him.

“Woah,” Dean put his hands up defensively, “I don’t remember you talking like that during our frequent previous meetings.”

The angels glared at the demon. Dean smiled to himself knowing that he had that kind of power over them. Several of the angels decided to get stronger by eating souls from Hell in exchange fulfilling tasks that Dean had made them do. It was a simple trade.

And two of the angels happened to be ones whom he traded with, which was just blind luck.

“Listen, we’re all here to negotiate. I don’t really want any trouble,” Dean reasoned, stepping closer to the three angels, “I know how much angels enjoy bargaining, so let’s do just that.”

The angels shared looks and then blades slid down their arms.

“We’ll enjoy killing you and that abomination of Heaven much more.”

Castiel shifted from one leg to another, visibly uncomfortable now. Dean sighed.

“I really didn’t want it to come to this,” he murmured.

He turned to Castiel who looked like a kicked lost puppy. Especially since his glowing wasn’t so visible now that they were on Earth. He avoided looking at his brothers and sister and Dean wondered if he had to get those feelings out of him too.

With the flick of Dean’s fingers, the ring around the angels filled with fire. The angels stepped closer to each other and Dean enjoyed the expression of utter fear dominate their impassive features.

“ _Now_ , is there anyone not willing to talk?” The angels didn’t answer and Dean continued, “Good, ‘cause, you know, I don’t really need all of you dead. I just need one, so…” Dean clapped his hands, “Who’s it gonna be?”

Castiel stiffened behind him again but didn’t say anything.

Taking angel’s grace was so much more enjoyable than Dean could have imagined. He watched the blue liquid fill the vial with the curiosity of a child.

“Are we free to go now?” one of the angels asked.

Dean nodded, “Yeah, thanks for help. Cas, put down the fire.”

Castiel stared as if coming out of a trance. He stepped to the ring of fire, trying not look at the lifeless body lying at his feet. With a motion of his hand the fire slowly decreased.

“Oh,” Dean said, and Castiel froze, fire still containing the angels, “One more thing. If you don’t tell anybody about this little encounter of ours, I promise not to tell about how you chose to kill your brother to save yourselves. What do you think?” The two angels shared a look and nodded.

“Good.”

The moment the fire was out, wings spread across the room and angels disappeared with a raising wind. Dean threw the vial in the air and caught it easily. He was aware of Castiel’s cutting stare.

“Talk.”

“Why did you do that?”

Dean examined the grace, “Let them go? You think I should’ve killed them too? I thought about it, but, you know, they’re loyal customers these days and––”

“ _No_ , Dean!” Castiel shouted and Dean looked at him finally, “Why did you kill my brother? Why did you take his grace? Why am _I_ here?!”

And there it was, hundred years of obedience spilling all over the place. Dean waited until Castiel realized what he had just done. The angel’s eyes widened, his lips started trembling.

“I’m––I’m so sorry. I didn’t––” he looked down, not knowing if he should kneel to him.

Dean stared at him, searching for the reason of that outburst. The collar was still there, Castiel’s grace was still slowly disappearing into nothing and he was still bearing Dean’s marks on his skin from the other night.

Dean sighed and motioned for Castiel to come closer to him. The angel complied, avoiding looking Dean in the eyes. The demon grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer.

“Wanna know _why_ I did all of that?”

Castiel didn’t reply, choosing to stare at the floor instead. Dean raised his hand and Castiel flinched expecting Dean to hurt him. Dean chuckled at that but lowered his hand on Castiel’s shoulder instead, walking them out of the borrowed house.

“The thing is, angel, for a really long time you’ve been really good,” Dean shrugged, “You know that, I’ve told you that.”

Castiel nodded.

Dean told him numerously, maybe even more than he should have. But most of the times he just couldn’t help himself. His angel deserved to be praised, especially since he had done such a good job of being his pet.

Dean stopped and Castiel did the same, glancing at the demon and quickly back at the ground. Dean took the vial out of his pocket and examined it some more. Then he grabbed it by the rope attached to it and hung it over Castiel’s head.

This time angel did look at him.

“You can have it when you deserve it.”

Grace shone through the glass brightly, the source of power so close to Castiel. He could’ve consumed it on the spot and been much stronger than Dean. Collar or no collar – he could’ve defeated Dean with a snap of his fingers.

Dean watched as Castiel touched the vial like a priest would touch a cross on his chest. The demon turned away and started walking down the street. If Castiel wanted to kill him or defeat him and take him back to Sam, this would be his moment to shine, with Dean’s back turned to him and a source of Heavenly power hanging from his neck.

Castiel caught up with Dean and walked next to him.

Grace warmed his chest when Castiel watched Dean slaughter men and women; it hung heavily when Dean put a knife into his hands. It was there when Dean told him to kill and hurt and rape. It was hanging from his neck the entire time Castiel behaved like a true creature of darkness. And each time he did what was asked of him, Dean kissed him.

High on blood and adrenaline, he kissed Castiel so passionately, so roughly, that Castiel could almost believe that Dean had meant every almost gentle touch. And each time Dean made Castiel shout out his name in pleasure the grace was still there, dangling from the chord off his neck.

Castiel would not touch it, not until he deserved to.

 

Castiel had never thought about the angels after that. Actually, he had all but forgotten about them since Dean had punished him for misbehaving. Castiel had realized his mistakes, he had apologized, but it wasn’t enough.

Dean had made him prove that Castiel had meant his apologies. And Castiel was willing to do anything it took. The next angel that Castiel had encountered was nothing but an opportunity for him to redeem himself to Dean.

Castiel cut it open, until there was nothing holding back the sacred light. He chained the wings and hung them over the holy fire. He poured the black smoke into the angel’s open stomach, filling it with everything that made humans into demons until the angel started begging him to stop.

He had felt nothing when the angel shouted his name, pleading for mercy _in the name of God_. Castiel only needed a nod from Dean to continue.

It was so easy for him to cut the wings off. He wondered why he had never thought of it before. The bones cracked under his skillful hands ripping a scream out of the angel that shook the ground. The light left the wing and it shattered it Castiel’s hands like it was made of glass; so fragile.

Castiel couldn’t take his eyes off the other wing as it burned out in the hell fire. It was beautiful.

He rode Dean right there, in front of the wingless angel who was drowning in blackness. He had never felt so alive. And when Dean stared at him his eyes wide, murmuring _beautiful_ over and over again, Castiel couldn’t stop himself. He came with his wings swinging open behind him.

Their light didn’t hurt Dean as they turned completely black.

 

_Cas––Castiel? You there?_

Castiel froze in place, knife falling down with a gentle sound. The grace shone against his chest and Castiel looked around terrified. However, nobody seemed to notice the voice filling his ears.

_I… Honestly, I have no idea what to say. It’s been so long, I––I––I’m just afraid that it’s just too late._

Castiel picked the knife from the floor and tried to breathe. Smoke and fire entered his lungs and warmed up his insides. No, he was not going crazy. He’s still in Hell and Dean’s still there with him.

Still in Hell.

_I know we parted… not on good terms. I hope you know that you’ve never stopped being my friend. And, honestly, I––I… With Dean gone for so long, and now you… it’s just hard._

The stolen grace gleamed brighter and Castiel hid it behind the shirt he was wearing. “ _Stop._ ”

_I miss you, Cas._

“Cas?”

Castiel was startled, knife falling from his hand again but this time Dean was there to catch it. Castiel breathed deeply as Dean stared at him.

“You okay?”

_Just wanted you to know that. I hope you’re all right, wherever you are._

Castiel nodded, but it wasn’t convincing by the look Dean gave him. No, he wasn’t okay. Should he tell Dean? But then Dean would be so disappointed in him. And he would make him wear the first collar again and, honestly, Castiel would rather die.

“You sure? You don’t look okay.”

Dean’s hand rested on his cheek, so warm and soft, and Castiel leaned into it. “Yes. Just got… overwhelmed, I guess.”

The demon nodded slowly, “All right. Wanna take a break?”

Yes, Castiel wanted to take a break. From torturing, from fire, from _Dean_. He wanted his hands clean. At least for one day not to hear screams and begging.

Dean took his hand and walked them to their room. It was dark and looked just a little different from all the other rooms where the souls were tortured. And still they called it home; Dean called it _home_.

Dean laid him down on their bed and kissed him all over, as if he knew Castiel’s thoughts. The moment his lips touched the angel’s it was all over. There was no Hell, no Sam, no _choice_. Castiel was just a tool for pleasure. And he wanted it to stay that way.

As Dean entered him, Castiel stared at his own hands gripping the bedsheets like was seeing them for the first time. They were covered in blood, innocent blood that he had shed just minutes ago. And he had _enjoyed_ it.

Castiel shut his eyes tightly, trying to ignore his thoughts and allowed Dean’s praises fill his mind instead. With every thrust of the demon’s hips he felt pleasure wash over him.

Castiel buried his hands into the sheets and pushed back, moaning Dean’s name.

He was fucked up. Dean fucked him up.

 

Castiel slipped from underneath the covers as quietly as he could. He was so thankful that as a demon Dean still needed his couple of hours of sleep, otherwise it would just… It would have been over for him a long time ago.

_It’s me again. I can’t sleep._

“Sam, _stop_.” His whisper echoed hollowly in the dark room and Castiel fell to his knees, gripping the vial tightly. “Please…”

_Today I was looking through our old photos and I realized we have no photos of you. I mean, Dean had couple on his phone, but I never thought I’d need them. That was stupid of me._

There was no choice for Castiel for a hundred years. It had almost felt like when he was serving Heaven. Being an angel of the Lord, just doing what you’re told to. It felt content, _right_.

And now? What was he supposed to do now?

_I sent an application to Stanford today… It didn’t feel right._

Castiel opened his mouth and for the first time in the hundred years, he prayed. To his Father, to other angels. He asked for answers, but they were silent, all of them.

It was Sam who talked to him still.

_I keep telling myself that you’re not dead. You can’t be. And Dean, he––he…_

Castiel gripped the vial securely and it shone like a sun in the dark room. His fingers caressed the cap and Castiel swallowed. It could be so easy, just to consume the grace. The power of it would be enough to break the collar and… and then what?

Castiel’s eyes widened in fear. He was thinking of disobedience.

_We could’ve helped him, together, you know? We could’ve made it right._

“No!” Castiel’s scream resonated from the walls and he froze. They couldn’t have helped Dean and there was no _right_. And they didn’t have to help Dean. Dean was fine. They were fine.

Castiel shut his eyes tightly as he heard Dean shift on the bed, “Cas?”

It was that simple; Dean said one word and it was all over. There was no voice in his head, no wish to pray, and the grace wasn’t shining anymore.

Castiel got back in bed, Dean’s hands holding him throughout the entire night. It was that simple.

There was nothing above Dean.

It was that simple.

 

_I still believe you will come back._

 

Dean had felt so much pain when he was a demon and even before becoming one. But nothing had compared to _this_. To the burning, violent _thing_ inside of him. It was shifting him, consuming, _changing_.

And the worst of all was Castiel. His blue eyes hidden in the darkness of the room; he had never glanced at him. No matter how much Dean ordered him to. Castiel flinched and started but he never did as was told.

Dean still couldn’t believe it no matter how many times the angel opened his mouth to apologize. He still couldn’t believe that it was Castiel – _his_ Castiel – who had betrayed him. After all those years in Hell and on Earth, after he had sworn so many times that he belonged to Dean, after he had done _everything_ for Dean – Castiel had betrayed him. And for _what_?

He didn’t take over Hell; he didn’t kill him for everything Dean had ever done to him. He brought him to _Sam_ because Sam was _worried_.

Compared to that, the pain of burning was nothing but a slight inconvenience.

And Sam told Castiel that it was okay, that he didn’t have to listen to Dean. That Castiel shouldn’t feel like he owed Dean anything. He didn’t belong to him. He wasn’t Dean’s property. And Castiel nodded; he believed Sam.

Dean spat and quivered and shouted until it was all over. He could feel the moment it was all gone and replaced with something else. The moment his heart came back to life, the moment he took a breath and it was air he was breathing.

Castiel walked to the light, looking at Dean for the first time. Sam stared, his eyes filled with hope.

Dean smiled, “You look worried, fellas.”


End file.
